


Illyrians and their Wingspans

by librarian_of_velaris



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Competition, Fluff, Gen, Illyrian, azriel fluff, cassian fluff, illyrian war camp, illyrian wingspans, rhysand fluff, wingspan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarian_of_velaris/pseuds/librarian_of_velaris
Summary: Wingspan was always a heated topic for these three bat-boys, but today's the day they finally settle the score: who has the biggest wingspan of them all?





	Illyrians and their Wingspans

“Hand it over.”

“I’m not done yet.”

Azriel heard a _crack_ and a _snap_.

“You BROKE it.”

A sigh. “That was all you, brother.”

In unison. “AZRIEL.”

“Are you guys _still_ arguing over this?” 

Az had been watching his brothers fight for what seemed like hours, the sky turning deep shades of violet as the sun set on the horizon. The war camp—despite its brutality—offered lovely views of the sunsets and sunrises, an ironic contrast to the dehumanizing and abusive ways Lord Devlon found to train his warriors. And Az always liked to watch the sunsets with his friends—his brothers—but this incessant fighting was getting on his every nerve. 

“I’m _trying_ to enjoy the views here,” Azriel muttered, his shadows nodding in agreement. 

Rhysand pointed an accusatory finger at Cassian, narrowing his eyes. “Then tell your _brother_ here to—” 

Cassian forced Rhys to the ground before he could finish, his precious wings slamming into the mud, now coated in dirt and grime.

“I’m _trying_ to make a point, Az, now help me out,” shouted Cassian, grinning down at Rhys, helpless, wings flared out. “All you have to do, you prick, is admit it.” 

“I will _never_ —" 

“Then we’ll just sit here like this,” said Cassian, picking at his nails as Rhys thrashed underneath him, trying to escape his grip, “until you do.” 

Rhys growled, a noise that would send any other Illyrian fleeing in the other direction. Cassian only winked. _Try me,_ his face seemed to say. _Fight me_.

“Game on.”

Rhys surrounded them in a sea of darkness, blinding Cassian while he used his saved strength to shove him off, flinging him out of the darkness, away from Rhys. Cassian, refusing to lose, ran towards Rhys, only to find he’d winnowed behind Cassian and twisted his arm, keeping him in his grip. 

“You can’t just use magic—”

Rhys winked, mimicking Cassian’s exaggerated action earlier. “I can do what I want.” 

“Prick.” 

“There, there, Cassian, no need to be upset,” said Rhys, letting go of Cassian and sauntering over to Azriel, “Just because mine’s bigger—” 

“Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, considering you snapped it, _and_ I just beat you—” 

“That was a fluke.” 

“You know, there’s an easier way to settle this,” called Az, “just go get the ruler.”

“We tried that.” Said both males at ones. Cassian shrugged.

“And broke it,” he added. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. He was sick of hearing this debate; every hundred years, sure, he could handle it. Cauldron, it’d even be entertaining to watch if it only happened once in a while. But Cassian and Rhys had been arguing about this for weeks now, even months. When Az thought it finally subsided, and the two would finally shut up and give him some peace and quiet, they’d start going at it again. And the process was always the same. Grab the ruler. Break the ruler. Fight. Argue. Fight. Stomp away and brood. 

“Is it _that_ important that you know whose wingspan is bigger?” 

Both males glared at Azriel in response.

“…I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed, getting up from his spot on the porch stoop and heading inside to grab yet another ruler for the two insufferable males.

Rhys’s mother was in the kitchen, cooking up a hot meal for the boys, when she spotted him. 

“Cassian and Rhys going at it again?” 

“Is there any other option?” 

Rhys’s mom chuckled, opening the closet nearest to her and pulling out another ruler. “This should do,” she said, handing it to him, “just make sure they don’t kill each other.” 

“As always,” responded Azriel, heading back outside to his brothers.

He tossed the ruler to Rhys and sat back down. “Don’t break it this time.” 

“Rhys, give it—”

“Az gave it to me first—” 

“Hand it over before I—”

“Cauldron, Cass, okay. But don’t go breaking it, you heard Az.” 

Rhys handed him the ruler, Cassian snatching it out of his hands, and flaring his wings. He held the ruler up, angling his neck so he could see the numbers that stretched down the long stick. 

“Y’know, Cass, you can’t just do this yourself,” laughed Rhys.

Cassian grumbled, straining his neck further in a futile attempt to read the markings. Az, watching from the stoop, couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s determination.

“If I can’t see it, Rhys, it must be a pretty big number.” 

Cassian’s wings were stretched taut, the male pushing them out as far as they’d go, his muscles starting to ache.

Rhys smacked him upside the head. “You know, Cass, I think stretching your wings like that is cheating—it’s unrealistic. If you can stretch farther than I can then all results are void.”

“Should it really be held against me if I can stretch farther than you? If I’m _longer_?” 

“Az, we need a judge. Is it fair or not?” Asked Rhys, who turned to see the male swirling in shadows.

“…I’m not getting involved,” he responded, those shadows growing stronger, hiding him from his brothers.” 

“Stop hiding and give us an answer,” pressed Rhys, Cassian nodding in agreement.

“The shadows calmed, making space for only his face, “everything counts,” he said haphazardly before sinking back into the darkness. 

Cassian pumped his fist in the air in victory, Rhys sighing. 

“You can’t win everything, brother,” teased Cassian, “now tell me, what’s the number say? Or is my wingspan _so large_ that we need another—” 

Rhys punched Cassian’s arm—hard enough to leave a mark—and went to read the ruler, Cassian’s wings at the edge of the stick, almost—but not quite—requiring the use of another one.

“Well, well, brother, looks like you’re not so small after all,” Rhys said, snatching the ruler from Cassian’s hands—really, it was almost too easy to grab it from a distance—and spread his wings, stretching them as Cassian had.

“But—you didn’t even tell me _how big they—”_  

“Hush, Cass, I’m measuring now. Care to take a read? I think we might need another ruler…” 

Sure enough, Rhys’s wings stretched to the end of the stick, just like Cassian’s. The difference between the two, if any at all, would be miniscule. 

“Azriel, do you see this? You see this, right? Tell me— _tell me_ how this is fair.” Whined Cassian, stalking over to Azriel—the resident judge—for his ruling.

Again, he emerged from the shadows, his wings flaring as he gave his brother an exasperated stare. “I’m not getting involved again, Cass,” he sighed, sinking back into the comfort of the darkness. 

“C’mon, Az, please? For your loving, caring, _handsome_ brother?” 

“Flattering yourself won’t get you anywhere with him,” crooned Rhys, walking towards them, “however, I have some information his shadows might want…” 

Azriel’s shadows perked up at the mention, at the prospect of making their jobs a little easier, but he silently commanded them to stay down. He wasn’t in the mood for bribes. 

His wings flared again, annoyance written all over his face as he looked both Cassian and Rhys in the eye. “I will only say this one more time. I am _not_ getting involved in your petty squabble over wingspans. Cauldron, guys, who cares?”

Cassian shot Rhys a dejected frown, as if to say, _I do. Don’t you?_ Ignoring that look entirely, Rhys smirked at him, no signs of sadness. “My measuring appointment awaits, Cass.”

And then Cassian launched himself at Rhys, snapping the ruler in half—creating a sword for each of them. They sparred, Illyrian-to-Illyrian, Cassian tossing his makeshift sword to throw some punches, landing one directly on Rhys’s eye, a dark, purple bruise forming to match those violet eyes. 

Rhys split open Cassian’s lip with the punch to the mouth, and they kept at it, pummeling each other to no end, until both males were beaten and bloody and bruised, split lips, black eyes, and twisted limbs. 

Only when either could fight no longer did they call a truce, forgetting entirely about this whole wingspan business as they helped each other limp inside the house, where Rhys’s mom was waiting with hot food and a stern expression. Azriel could hear their mom scolding the two males, and he could only help but smirk at the trouble they’d gotten themselves in.

He flared his wings one last time, stretching them as far as they could go, and pulled out a ruler that he’d kept hidden, just in case they needed it later. Smiling faintly, he looked to where the ruler ended, and where his wings ended. There had to have been at least a few inches between the end of the ruler and where those large, membranous wings of his ended in talons. 

Azriel smirked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t measured his wings before…but to know that he was bigger than Rhys _and_ Cass…well, it brought him more satisfaction than he’d care to admit. 

Smiling at the information he now held, he looked to the fading sunset. “Illyrians and their wingspans,” he sighed, before heading inside for dinner with his newfound family.  

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed! Comments are always appreciated :) 
> 
> I'm also taking prompts, so if you'd like to send me some, go for it, or leave it as a comment on here or one of my other works!


End file.
